There is no try
by Bookjunk
Summary: After Camille has attacked Raphael, Simon finds himself sitting at Raphael's bedside holding his hand and trying really hard to come up with a good explanation for sitting at his bedside holding his hand. Post-season 1. One-shot. Simon/Raphael.


**There is no try**

Softly, Simon strokes Raphael's hand. His mind runs ahead and pictures Raphael waking up and finding his hand being fondled. _I probably shouldn't…_ Simon shakes his head to prevent the thought from fully forming. _No, I'm not gonna do that. I'm gonna enjoy this while it lasts_. _After all, when am I ever going to get the chance to do this again?_ Nodding in support of this solid piece of decision-making, Simon slides his thumb over Raphael's knuckles and moves on to massage the webbing between Raphael's thumb and index finger. It is remarkably supple. And silky. _Come on, open your eyes,_ Simon prays. _Wake up and give me hell._ Nothing happens. Simon sighs. Eventually, he simply curls his hand around Raphael's hand and leans back in his chair.

'What are you doing here?' Raphael suddenly asks, sounding irritated and suspicious. Startled, Simon sits up straight. _Did I do that? Am I magical?_ Raphael raises an eyebrow to signal that he expects an answer. Simon is so happy about Raphael being awake and alright that he accidentally says something that resembles the truth.

'Why do people sit at the bedside of the wounded holding the hand of the aforementioned wounded?' Simon responds. Horrified, he plays that back in his head. _Could I be any more obvious? Nope._ Raphael looks blank, however. Like he seriously can't think of a reason why anyone would do that. That doesn't come as a relief to Simon. Maybe because it's super sad. Maybe also because he had kind of hoped that Raphael by now at least suspected, so that he wouldn't have to tell him. _Damn_ , Simon thinks. _Raphael doesn't know. And now I'm gonna have to explain. And he won't feel the same way because_ of course _he doesn't. My life sucks. Correction: my unending existence sucks._ In one last effort to postpone the inevitable for a few more seconds, Simon winks. Yes, he actually winks at Raphael.

'Are you really gonna make me say it?' Simon objects, laughing awkwardly. Raphael glares, but he hasn't removed his hand from Simon's yet, which Simon chooses to interpret as a very good sign. _Or he has forgotten that we're playing out the tender hospital scene from every soap opera ever._ To test that theory, Simon squeezes lightly. Raphael looks down at their linked hands and back up at Simon; unfazed. And, still, he continues to allow Simon to hold his hand. Just this little act of letting that happen does something to Simon's insides. _Oh, if my heart could still beat,_ he reflects, beaming.

'Are you going to answer my question?' Raphael prompts. _I am in love with you,_ Simon thinks as he peers into Raphael's face. _I am in love with you. I don't know why, but I am. Okay, that's a lie._ It's because Simon knows that Raphael is a softie beneath the barbed wire exterior. It's because the rare times when Raphael is relaxed, Simon sees someone who cares too much and tries very hard to hide it, because he thinks that he can't afford to care at all. _That is why I love you._ Simon pauses and then follows his thoughts to their logical conclusion. _And you don't love me._ Wincing a bit, he averts his eyes. _Yeah, that's the way it is. I am in love with people and they tend not to feel the same way about me._ Couldn't he, just for a change, love someone who loves him back? Simon gives it a moment, but there's no sign from above. _No? Okay, God, thanks for listening anyway._

'Well?' Raphael snaps, but Simon can't make the words come. There's no way that he's going to be able to say any of that. Miserable, Simon realises that – while that might be true – he can't wait around like he did with Clary either. Something needs to happen right now.

'I'll show you,' Simon responds. _This is crazy. What I am about to do is crazy._

Raphael raises an eyebrow. He's good at that: eyebrow body language. His eyebrows basically do the talking for him. His eyebrows clearly like this plan.

'Less babbling from you would…,' Raphael says. He stops speaking when Simon gets up and comes to stand hovering over him. Simon takes a deep breath and kisses him. Applying little to no pressure, Simon nonetheless feels Raphael's lips parting easily under his own lips. To say that this comes as a surprise to Simon is putting it mildly. He hadn't meant for there to be tongue, but, hey, carpe diem and all that. Somehow he manages to keep the kiss short and sweet.

Slowly, Simon backs away. The only indication that something has happened are Raphael's still closed eyes. His lack of reaction makes Simon nervous, which inadvertently activates his rambling.

'You get it now, right? I mean, that explains my presence here? That's totally clear? That I'm in…'

'Yes,' Raphael abruptly interrupts, opening his eyes and studying Simon. Simon squirms. There's a silence then. Simons hates it. _Why doesn't he say anything? Why doesn't he make fun of me or something? What is he thinking?_

'You're angry,' Simon blurts out, voicing his fears. Raphael's eyebrows are like: 'yeah, no shit.'

'Sorry,' Simon says, starting to disentangle his hand from Raphael's only to find Raphael clasping it tighter.

'No, you idiot,' Raphael scoffs. Confused, Simon looks at him. He doesn't know what to make of Raphael's tone. He seems more exasperated than genuinely angry. Raphael sighs and rolls his eyes.

'Lean in,' he orders.

'Okay…,' Simon mumbles, as he hesitantly does what he's told. 'Like this?'

'Closer.'

Simon obliges. He's very aware of Raphael's intense gaze. Also, his smooth skin. His beautiful mouth. All mere inches away. Determined not to screw up whatever Raphael has in store, Simon stays in the same position; awaiting further instructions.

'And what am I supposed to do now?' he inquires.

'Work on your timing,' Raphael whispers as he lifts his head off the pillow a little to touch his lips to Simon's. The world tilts and flips and then vanishes. Seriously, the world is gone.

Like a caress, Raphael's lips brush across Simon's lips. Feathery. Tender. It lasts forever in Simon's mind, but takes less than a second in the world he reluctantly returns to when Raphael's head sinks back onto the pillow. Simon stares at him. The staring might involve gaping.

'I don't do this,' Raphael says, amending that to: 'I haven't yet.'

'Kissed?' Simon guesses. He feels stupid just for suggesting it. _Look at him! Like he's never been kissed before._

'Loved,' Raphael corrects. Simon swallows.

'Do you wanna, like, give it a go? Try? With me?' he proposes.

'No,' Raphael replies, shattering Simon's hopes.

'There is no try,' Raphael adds, smirking.

'You're a Star Wars fan!' Simon exclaims. It's absolutely the wrong thing to focus on at the moment, but he can't help himself. _Raphael likes Star Wars! Oh, be still my nerd soul._ Raphael flutters his eyelashes in feigned exasperation. Simon can't help but be mesmerized by the sight.

'You blink so prettily,' he remarks. He instantly regrets it. _Are we there yet? Can I say that? Is that_ ever _an acceptable thing to say?_

'What?' Raphael asks. His eyebrows are raised in a perfect portrayal of polite amusement.

'You know how you are really beautiful?' Simon explains, floundering when Raphael remains silent. 'Like with the lashes and everything? Don't pretend you don't know. With the lips. And the eyes. You _know_ you're pretty.'

Raphael does a cocky, little shrug during which Simon has to curb the impulse to kiss the hell out of him. Instead, he sits down and broaches a completely different subject.

'I'm sorry about your condition. I blame myself.'

'You should. It's your fault,' Raphael points out. Simon wants to protest, but that is a fair assessment.

'True… Why do you like me again?'

'Who says I do?' Raphael teases. His eyes twinkle and his lips curve into a smile, but Simon – unused to a Raphael who isn't deadly serious – is already panicking about having misread the situation and the status of their relationship. Raphael notices immediately.

'Give me your hand,' he requests, gruffly. 'Don't worry, Simon. I'm mad about you helping Camille escape. I'm mad about you betraying me and the clan. I'm mad about the fact that I can barely move.'

'So far this isn't particularly reassuring,' Simon huffs. Raphael gives him some wicked side-eye which makes Simon wisely decide to shut up.

'On the other hand,' Raphael continues, 'I let you wear my clothes.'

'There's that, yeah,' Simon acknowledges, perking up significantly.

'So, you like me and I like you and we're a thing now? Have I got that right?' Simon helpfully recaps. He realises that he's fishing, but he just wants confirmation, dammit!

'You've got it,' Raphael agrees. 'Do we need to start over? I know I haven't always been the nicest…'

'I am annoying,' Simon cuts him off.

'You can be,' Raphael admits. _Like right now, for instance,_ Simon thinks.

'Context: it matters. You haven't been the most patient person because I get under people's skin. It's a gift. Or a curse. Depends on how you look at it. The ability to piss off vampires is probably not the greatest gift to have. I guess what I'm saying is that you're forgiven,' Simon rambles. Raphael looks tired. _I am wearing him out_ , Simon realises. Unable to resist, he plants a goodbye-for-now kiss on the lips of his newly acquired boyfriend before standing up to leave.

'I'll let you rest,' Simon offers. Raphael nods his assent.

'Later, when I'm mobile again, do you want to Netflix and chill?' he casually invites. The idea stops Simon in his tracks. Calmly, he turns around. He attempts not to let his giddiness show: he would be the world's worst poker player.

'I don't think that means what you think it means.'

Raphael flashes him a lazy yet undeniably suggestive smile that turns Simon's insides into liquid fire.

'I think it does.'

The end.


End file.
